Peanuts and Cracker Jacks
by Ellie Biel
Summary: ...he saw the street light reflecting off hair the color of butter, real honest to gosh butter and not that fake margarine substitute. His vision might be blurry but the cognac hadn't made him color blind. Very AU, WolframYuuri, see warnings


Title: Peanuts and Cracker Jacks  
Author: Ellie Biel  
Fandom: Kyou Kara Maou  
Characters/pairing: Murata, Yuuri, Wolfram, OC (not in a pairing), Yuuri/Wolfram-ish  
Warnings: Seriously AU. No Shin Makoku, no maryoku. Stereotypical American high school, underaged drinking, Murata has a sibling, and this was _supposed_ to be a drabble for LJ user **sharona1x2** based on the song "How You Remind Me" by Nickelback but I'm about 7,000 words over the definition of a drabble!

* * *

There was a new girl at school.

That in itself wasn't terribly remarkable, but it was the weird sensation Yuuri got when he was around her, a sense of déjà vu, of familiarity, and he found it both comforting and oddly unsettling.

She was cute, too, actually more than cute and bordering upon delicately pretty. Wide expressive eyes, hair curling about her cheeks and skimming the bottom of her perfectly formed ears, and an easy confidence about her that drew plenty of admirers.

The only flaw Yuuri could see in her was that she didn't seem interested in him in _that_ way, and it wasn't as if that wasn't the story of his life; it was that he'd really wanted things to be different with this girl.

His first mistake was probably getting himself so hung up on her in the first place, but his second mistake was definitely in telling his friend Ken about it.

Ken Murata didn't go to public school like Yuuri did, he went to an exclusive all boys' school. It made him a bit of a pervert, at least from Yuuri's point of view, and he was positively obsessed with girls. If that's what happened when you were separated from the opposite sex for seven hours a day, Yuuri was rather glad that his parents had been perfectly content to let their sons attend a co-ed school.

Yuuri suspected his mother would have cried if she'd sent him to Ken's school, if only because it would be a strong reminder that she'd given birth to two boys instead of having the little girl she'd always wanted.

None of which was helping his current situation any more than Ken's constant pumping for information was.

"I don't know!" he exclaimed, his cheeks turning bright red. "How would I know what size she was?"

"You can't tell me you didn't notice if she was stretching the front of her shirt just a little more than the other girls," Ken said, cupping his hands and holding them several inches in front of his chest. Yuuri slapped them down and looked around quickly to make sure no one had seen them.

"No! She's..."

Ken stroked his chin and nodded. "Ah," he said. "She's flat."

Which was the truth, but it sounded so shallow and heartless to put it that way. Yuuri opened his mouth, and then inspiration struck.

"Athletic," he said smugly. "She has an athletic build."

"I see."

The way he said that made Yuuri think that he saw more than Yuuri suspected he did. Combined with Ken's smirk and a complete dropping of the subject, he was sure that things were only going to get worse.

* * *

Her name was Shelly. Yuuri found that out the first day of school, but he'd had no reason to address her by name until today, when the strap on her book bag broke and the contents spilled all over the floor of the hall.

She smiled at him when he handed her the last pencil and he was dazzled by the brilliance of her eyes, so much so that he was still crouched on the floor long after she'd gotten to her feet. She giggled a bit and walked away, and he was left staring after her, wondering why the sound hadn't sounded as endearing as it should.

Ken had a theory about that, of course. Yuuri wasn't planning on telling him, but it had just sort of spilled out. Murata was sneaky that way - he tended to ramble on about this and that before working the conversation around to what he wanted to know. Yuuri had no chance, really. By then he'd become relaxed and was too busy squeezing his soda can and listening to the sound the metal made as it popped back into place to notice that he'd been answering questions without thinking about what he was saying.

When he realized it, the can crumpled in his grip and he turned to glare at his friend.

"What?" Ken asked innocently. "I was just curious."

Yuuri knew better, because if there was one thing Ken Murata wasn't, it was innocent. He'd managed to get Yuuri involved in situations that didn't concern him and he'd taken a couple of beatings, too. If it weren't for the fact that he and Murata just seemed to connect in a way he couldn't with his own school mates, there was really no reason for the two of them to be friends.

Well, that wasn't really true, but he didn't want to think about that too much.

Murata didn't say anything more about Yuuri's mild obsession with Shelly again. Not for another week, at least.

* * *

Her fingers were too smooth, too soft, and not nearly strong enough. Even Yuuri knew that when shaking hands, it was best to have a firm grip. Hers was a bit like holding a limp fish, and he had the distinct impression that he should be bowing over her hand and kissing the air just above her knuckles.

Shelly had been urged to run for class president, but she'd politely declined, insisting she didn't want to usurp anyone's position. Instead she'd chosen to align herself with Kevin Smart, the candidate considered least likely to win, and had whipped up a campaign that put Kevin's to shame.

Overall Yuuri was pleased. He had a tendency to root for the underdog himself and he admired Shelly's perseverance, even if he thought her handshake needed a bit of work. Still, she was enthusiastic, passionate even, and Yuuri knew that if they didn't win the election it would not be for lack of trying.

He'd been more than happy to mention it to Murata after school, and was stunned that Ken simply shrugged and didn't pursue the topic, even if he knew it was probably for the best.

He'd known Ken Murata for a very long time. He should have known better than to think that was the end of it.

* * *

The biggest mistake Yuuri ever made was agreeing to go to that party.

He hadn't quite realized that Ken Murata had other friends. There was no reason that he shouldn't have, really, but he just hadn't ever seen Ken with anyone else. He supposed the same could have been said about himself but he had the baseball team and his friends there, even if they tended to only hang around together before and after games and practice.

He considered himself lucky that his mother let him get away with that much - not that she'd restrict him from doing something he loved, it was just that she was suffering a bit of empty nest syndrome, which had to be the only reason she sighed so heavily when she'd pick up his dirty uniform.

He found out about Murata's party from his mother, who was wielding a stiff bristled brush against the stains on the knees of his uniform. He hadn't planned on saying no, but it was clear from the way his mother gushed over the flowers Ken had brought her that she fully intended him to accept the invitation, especially since she'd dropped the brush and handed him the phone in the blink of an eye.

And then stood there with her arms folded until he'd called Ken and told him yes.

Despite the eccentric manner in which he'd been invited, Yuuri had to admit to a certain curiosity regarding the people that would be at this party, and he was actually looking forward to it.

The only downside to it was that as soon as he'd hung up the phone, his mother decided they had to drop everything and go out shopping so he could find just the right outfit.

The shopping trip was as painful as he'd thought, but at least she stopped thrusting pastel colored shirts at him and didn't complain at all when he'd decided to go with a black silk shirt and crisp black jeans. She'd even complimented him on the way it matched his hair.

The weird thing was he didn't particularly like the color black.

* * *

She smiled at him and he smiled back. Her good humor was infectious and it was impossible not to respond in kind. She was preparing to climb a stepladder to hang up a poster and he offered to help.

He wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but before the end of the day, he'd found himself handing out flyers and buttons in between classes, during study hall, and even during the latter part of lunch. It hadn't been too painful, really, except for the juice box that was squirted on him near the end of his shift.

He hadn't even known he was "on a shift" until Shelly told him when his next one was, bright and early in the morning, just before homeroom.

Yuuri found it hard to say no if someone needed help. While Shelly probably would have managed just fine without him, all it had taken was one grateful look from her, the same look she directed at four different students within the hour before the last bell rang. She really knew how to be effective without saying a word, and Yuuri admired that about her. It was a refreshing change from some of the loud obnoxious people he knew, although in a way it was nearly as sneaky as Murata's methods were.

Paintbrush in hand, Yuuri leaned against the wall and watched her direct another volunteer toward the far end of the hall. He felt a stab of sympathy for the guy - he was covered from neck to waist and all the way down his arms to his wrists in Vote Smart buttons - and then he realized Shelly was looking his way and he dutifully went back to painting the banner he was supposed to be working on.

He couldn't even remember how he'd gotten stuck with this chore. He was an athlete, not an artist, although he supposed that anyone could be considered the latter if what was displayed in art museums was any sort of guideline.

His brush strokes stopped and he stood there frozen, lost in thought, until Shelly tapped him on the shoulder and gave him one of her sad puppy dog looks. He cringed, apologized, and went back to work.

Yuuri finished painting it in no time flat. It was funny how much faster he worked when he was in a bad mood, and he wondered if the same could be said of most artists.

* * *

"This is your brother's party."

"That it is."

"You didn't mention that."

"If I recall, Shibuya, I didn't mention anything about it at all. To you." He turned to look at Yuuri, but his eyes were invisible behind the glare on his glasses. Yuuri always hated that and he swore that Murata knew exactly which way to tilt his head to get that effect.

"Well, thanks for inviting me," he grumbled.

"Of course I'd invite you," Murata replied cheerfully. "I was allowed to have one friend over, to keep me out of the way. Who else would I ask?"

Who else indeed.

"Come on," Murata said. "I've got something to show you."

The something turned out to be a key, and the key happened to be in a lock, rotated a quarter turn as a signal that the cabinet was fully accessible.

"I don't know," Yuuri stalled. "I don't think my parents would approve."

To say nothing of the cops if they got wind of this.

"Come on, Shibuya," Murata said, reaching into the cabinet and pulling out a bottle nearly two thirds full. "Live a little."

This time Yuuri could see right through the lenses, to the sparkle of mischief in Murata's eyes, and he knew that the smart thing to do would be to decline and think up a reason why he couldn't stay long.

The thing was that Murata sometimes had a very good reason for what he did, and Yuuri was too curious to do anything but nod and follow him up to the roof.

He just hoped neither of them would fall off and break a leg.

It was much cooler on the roof, and he only hesitated slightly when Murata handed him the bottle of cognac. From the look of the bottle it probably cost more than most people's cars but Murata had already chugged from it and if he wanted to know what his friend was up to, he had to play by his game, at least for now.

It was strong and smooth going down but he could feel it burning in his gut. It had probably been a bad idea to skimp on dinner but he'd been so nervous about coming here. On the other hand, maybe it would work in his favor - at least it would mean he'd be drinking less of the Louis XIII than if he'd had something to eat first.

It was entirely possible he was imagining it but he'd swear he could feel the effects already, and when Ken handed the bottle over to him for a second swallow he reached for it automatically.

Much smoother this time, and the fire in his belly was making the rest of his body feel warm. He tugged at his collar and handed the bottle back.

Neither of them said anything for a while, and Yuuri was glad. He was feeling rather relaxed, even a little drowsy, and they'd consumed half of what had been left in the bottle before Murata said anything. It sounded like he was speaking through a cardboard tube and Yuuri snickered a little, completely missing the question altogether.

"This Sherry, Shibuya. What color are her eyes?"

"Sherry?" Her name sounded wrong, like it had come out as "Surry", and Yuuri opened and closed his mouth a few times, running his tongue around the inside like he'd eaten something bad. The bottle was back in his hand and he took a long swallow.

It didn't help clear the marbles out of his mouth but he didn't quite care as much.

Ah, _Shelly_. He didn't bother correcting Murata's mistake, too intent on trying to picture her eyes.

"Green," he said, or maybe it was "grin". He tapped the bottle rather loudly on the roof. "Hurries grin. Hurrrrr eyes. Grin." Yuuri nodded. "Grin."

"Really." Murata's voice sounded far away but not at all slurred, and Yuuri leaned closer to watch his lips move. Yes, he'd definitely said "really".

"Uh huh."

"And her hair?"

It was the lip reading that helped him, because he'd swear this time Murata said "underwear" and that didn't make any sense at all.

"B'onde." James Bond. Yuuri started to laugh and he tugged at his collar again. When had it come unbuttoned?

Murata was saying something.

"Whazzat?"

"I'm disagreeing with you."

"With me?" Yuuri thought he might have lost track of the conversation. "Why?"

"Shelly," Murata said, getting her name correct this time. Yuuri wondered if he'd only imagined the mistake earlier. Ken was still speaking, this time with excruciating slowness, each word perfectly enunciated, and Yuuri made a mental note to try that next time he opened his mouth. "Her eyes are blue."

"Howwww." Yuuri stopped and rubbed his eyes. "How. Do. You. Know. That?" He smiled to himself. It worked - even he could understand what he'd just said.

Or maybe it just seemed like he'd spoken very clearly, because Murata didn't seem to have heard the question.

"And her hair is brown, not blonde."

Yuuri closed his eyes and tried to picture Sherry-Shelly. No, Murata was wrong. Blonde hair, green eyes. OK, maybe her hair was a little too dark but her eyes were definitely green.

Or at least a sort of turquoise, aquamarine, bluish green.

He frowned. Wait a minute. How would Murata know what she looked like anyway? She didn't even go to his school.

Although...

Yuuri had never heard Shelly talk about herself - where she'd come from, if she missed any of her old friends, what she did for fun - but it was impossible, even if you were at the bottom of the high school food chain, not to hear gossip when everyone was talking about it.

The gossip was that Shelly's family had fallen on hard times - that was big news - and while that could have been a complete fabrication, part of that rumor had included mention of her old school.

The very same school that the Murata brothers attended.

It was funny how it hadn't really registered at the time he'd heard it, and yet sitting here on Murata's roof, drunk to the gills, it seemed crystal clear to him. That was, the fact that Murata had probably, had almost certainly, known Shelly before she'd switched schools was. Everything else was still about as clear as mud.

Unless you counted the fact that Yuuri thought he'd developed a bit of a fondness for expensive cognac.

"Shibuya."

Murata's voice had changed. It was still slow, but this time it sounded rather sad. Yuuri reached up and patted him on the shoulder.

"Murata."

The bottle had disappeared somewhere and Murata was lying on his back, staring up at the stars. Yuuri thought that seemed like a good idea and did the same.

"If you could describe the perfect girlfriend, would it be someone like Shelly?"

Yuuri was pretty sure that was the Big Dipper he was looking at - or maybe it was the Little Dipper - and when he finally decided he'd been looking at Orion's Belt the whole time, he thought he might be able to answer without tripping over his tongue.

"No."

Success. That had been pretty easy.

"Why not?"

Of course he'd not really expected Murata would let him off the hook that easily, but it had been worth a try.

"She's pretty," Yuuri allowed. "Smart. Conscious-derate. Considerate. Did I say pretty?"

Ken's amused chuckle assured him he had.

"I don' know," he said, attempting to shrug and managing to bend the lower part of his earlobe between his shoulder and skull. "She's..." Yuuri waved his hands in the air, making his view of the stars blurry. It was hard to put his finger on it, because Shelly had both looks and personality.

What had he liked about her? She'd exuded a sense of confidence, of knowing she'd get what she wanted no matter the odds. She was forceful in exerting her will; she was just subtle about it. Shelly was pretty, but when she smiled, and when the sunlight came through the window and reflected off the highlights in her hair, she looked stunning. She was delicate looking yet strong, and Yuuri had thought upon their first meeting that the two of them together could accomplish anything.

He held up a finger. "She's just not my type."

"I see."

Yuuri wasn't sure he did, actually.

"So then, Shibuya. What _is_ your type? If you were going to create the perfect mate, what qualities would you choose?"

He was far too drunk to answer a question like this, and yet the fact that he was made him more willing to try.

"Loyalty." The first word out of his mouth surprised him, but he liked the sound of it. "Confidence. Willingness to fight for..." he stumbled.

"For what he believes in?" Murata sounded way too amused.

"I fight for what I believe in," Yuuri protested, doing his best to level a glare in his direction without crossing his eyes.

"That you do, Shibuya." He sat up and crossed his legs. "Tell you what. Why don't we go downstairs now and get some fresh air."

They were out on the roof getting all the fresh air they could handle, but Yuuri thought it was probably a good idea to move to a place where falling on his face might not hurt as much.

He thought he was hallucinating at first and he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, but the vision was still there.

"Yuuri Shibuya," Murata said, slapping him on the back. "I believe you're acquainted with my brother's girlfriend?"

Shelly, or Shailyn, as she was introduced to him, didn't look at all like her family had fallen on hard times. She was dressed like all the girls at those fancy snobby parties shown in teen movies, and Yuuri felt downright drab in his silk shirt and jeans.

Well, if movies were to be believed - and they weren't - that would make him the eventual hero of this event. He'd settle for avoiding burping in her face because the cognac was bubbling away in his stomach and he could feel it climbing back up the way it came.

Fortunately Murata had his arm over Yuuri's shoulder and he spun him right around and pushed him out the door, where Yuuri fell gratefully to his knees next to a bush, gagged, and waited. And waited.

And nothing happened, although when he got back to his feet, a large belch escaped. It tasted worse coming up than it had going down and he rubbed the back of his hand against his lips and tongue. The only thing that made him feel better was that Murata, who was busy laughing at him, suddenly let loose a very loud hiccup that got a plastic cup thrown at him from an upper window.

He was completely unfazed as it bounced off his shoulder and he scooped it up off the ground, turning to toss it into a green garbage bag hanging off the chain link fence. It bounced off some of the other trash and finally settled inside. Yuuri watched it before the scent of beer and alcohol wafted toward his nose and he turned away, sure that this time he was definitely going to puke.

He didn't, but at this rate he wished it would just happen so he could be done with it. He had a sneaking suspicion he was going to be incredibly hungover in the morning - and yet he felt oddly unconcerned.

If this was what it was like to get drunk, he thought it would be wise to avoid doing it again in the future.

"Shibooooooya." Now Murata was slurring, and he was leaning heavily into Yuuri's side as they walked.

"Ken."

"Tell me again what your dream lover will be like."

He would have jerked away if he'd had the energy. Murata was seriously starting to creep him out.

"Not you."

The laughter was genuine, even if it had a hint of derision to it. "No, Shibuya, not me. My hair is too dark."

"It's not about looks."

"S'tell me. What looks do it for you?"

Yuuri had said Shelly wasn't his type, but he'd never really thought about what his type was - he just assumed he'd know when he saw her. They staggered along the sidewalk (and Yuuri hadn't even remembered reaching the end of the flagstone path that led up to Murata's front door) and he made a brief "nn nn" noise indicating he wasn't falling for any more of Murata's mind tricks.

That was until he saw the street light reflecting off hair the color of butter, real honest to gosh butter and not that fake margarine substitute. His vision might be blurry but the cognac hadn't made him color blind.

He elbowed Murata. "I think I'm in love."

"Where?"

_"There."_

Murata raised his hand to his brows, as if he was shielding his eyes from bright sunlight. "There?"

"Yes," Yuuri hissed, not wanting Murata to blow it for him.

"Right there."

He elbowed Murata again, very hard and between the ribs. "Shut _up._ Yes, right there."

They were a lot closer and now he could make out a profile, the nose turned up just slightly at the end and the lips pursed as the eyes flicked down to a paper held in unshaking hands and back up to the number over the door again.

"The blond."

"Are you blind as well as deaf? _Yes,_ the blond."

Murata stood up straight, throwing Yuuri off balance now that he was no longer leaning to one side to support his friend's weight.

"Well then, Shibuya, it looks like you don't need me any more."

Yuuri gaped after him as Murata walked back toward his house, whistling merrily. The bastard wasn't even staggering, at least not much.

"Yuuri."

His back had been toward the vision under the lamplight and he froze as the familiar voice penetrated his consciousness. His mouth was completely dry, although the combination of the cognac and his open mouthed expression weren't helping at all. He turned and blinked at his one time nemesis and former best friend.

Wolfram von Bielefeld had come to his school filled with arrogance and snobbery, but it hadn't been enough to keep hordes of girls sighing after him as he walked down the hall. There were at least three not-so-secret not-quite-clubs of admirers and Wolfram's desk was often littered with pink post it notes, glitter-covered cards, and tissue paper flowers before the homeroom bell rang.

Yuuri had been a little bit jealous of all the attention, but it hadn't been until Wolfram had played on the opposing baseball team in gym class that their rivalry had really started.

Wolfram hated the sport, and he made no secret of it. Sometimes Yuuri thought that the only enjoyment Wolfram got out of the forty minutes they had on the field just before lunch was finding ways to let Yuuri know exactly how little he thought of the Great American Sport.

He wasn't entirely sure why he'd been the one Wolfram had decided to antagonize, but it probably started with the day Wolfram had cost their team the game. Everyone else had been pissed but it was Yuuri who had told him off, quite colorfully and in great detail. Wolfram wasn't watching the ball, and half the time he didn't even swing at it, and if he didn't care about winning then maybe he should start caring about his grade at least, because it was obvious that he was heading for an F for lack of effort.

Wolfram and he were on different teams the next time they played, and that had been the turning point in their relationship.

Yuuri didn't know if Wolfram had actually listened to him or if he'd practiced, although he'd probably had no time for the latter and the former was just plain unlikely, but he'd actually swung at the ball - not only that, but he'd made it safely to first base.

Part of it was luck as the outfielders on Yuuri's team hadn't expected Wolfram to do anything more than stand there and look bored, but he'd been standing right behind Wolfram - or squatting at least, ready to catch the ball when it sailed past him. While he'd been watching the ball, so had Wolfram, because he could hear the solid crack as Wolfram swung, and he'd flipped his mask up to watch it sail out past the pitcher and into the outfield.

To their credit, they'd recovered quickly, but by then Wolfram was standing on the bag and looking right toward Yuuri. Their eyes met, Wolfram smirked, and Yuuri knew right then that this game was going to be different.

There were nights when he still dreamt about that game, about Wolfram attempting to steal home. Yuuri had been so sure of himself - the ball headed right toward his glove, Wolfram unable to run faster than the ball, and then he slid toward the plate as Yuuri caught the ball and reached to tag him.

The ball had rolled right out of his mitt and Wolfram had gotten to his feet, looking dirtier than Yuuri had ever seen him, and he'd said one word to Yuuri.

_Wimp._

After that Wolfram would rarely acknowledge Yuuri by name, no matter what the circumstances, and then they'd gotten stuck working together on a science project. Of course they'd disagreed on it. Wolfram had wanted a volcano, and Yuuri had protested endlessly, coming up with at least a dozen other suggestions. He'd never quite realized how stubborn Wolfram was until then, and in the end, they'd made a volcano, just like Wolfram had wanted.

On the bright side, it had been impressive as hell and had earned them both an A minus for their efforts.

They'd spent a lot of time together on it. At first they'd alternated where they worked on it, sometimes at Yuuri's and sometimes at Wolfram's, but it soon became apparent that Wolfram got more done when they worked at Yuuri's house. He tended to look more agitated and snapped at Yuuri a lot more, especially when his older brothers were home, and the one day that his older brother Gwendal mentioned that their mother was coming home a day early, Wolfram had looked panic stricken.

Yuuri didn't know why. When he finally met Wolfram's mother, he realized that Wolfram was her spitting image. It was probably a good thing Wolfram had been born a boy because he couldn't imagine the chaos at school if a girl who looked like Mrs. _(Ms.!)_ "Just call me Cheri" Von Spitzberg.

He felt a little bit sorry for Wolfram, not because his mother was drop dead gorgeous but because it was clear that he was uncomfortable with the way his mother flirted. Yuuri knew what that was like because he'd seen his mother and Ken Murata in the kitchen wearing matching pink aprons - complete with lace and frills - and he realized it wasn't sympathy he felt, but empathy.

Who could have guessed that he and Wolfram had something in common after all.

When they started spending all their spare time at Yuuri's to finish the project, it was clear that Yuuri's mother was taking a shine to Wolfram. She called him Wolf, a name that made Wolfram cringe when Cheri used it, and Wolfram actually smiled back at her.

He didn't miss the adoring looks his mother gave Wolfram's hair either - probably wishing she could bedeck it with ribbons - and he was thankful that she didn't voice any of her crazy notions out loud. Granted he had no way of knowing what she and Wolfram talked about when he had to run into the house for paint or glue or just to use the bathroom, but he'd caught her out in the backyard with Wolfram every time he came back. Wolfram had never said anything to make Yuuri think his mother had said something off the wall, and since Wolfram wasn't exactly tactful or particularly concerned with not insulting Yuuri, there was no way his mother could have done anything to make him want to die of embarrassment.

Even knowing that, it still made him nervous the way his mother would clasp her hands together each evening after Wolfram left and lament not having a girl with hair the color of spun gold.

Yuuri couldn't have two friends who were less alike than Ken Murata and Wolfram von Bielefeld, but overall he'd expected Wolfram to get along with Murata without a problem. After all, they both seemed to enjoy making Yuuri's life hell if the opportunity arose.

He'd not expected Wolfram to shoot daggers at Murata nonstop.

Asking Wolfram what his problem was only earned him a barrage of insults and a couple of doors slammed in his face - even in his own house - and talking to Murata about it was like trying to get past the Great Sphinx. He'd swear that Murata lived for moments when he could act like he saw inside everyone's minds and that eventually Yuuri would catch up to him, even if he didn't expect it to happen anytime soon.

After the volcano project, Yuuri's mother had insisted on celebrating their success and their grade with ice cream. At one point Wolfram had taken a lick from his cone - the first time he'd ever eaten ice cream from a cone, he'd said - and gotten a bit of it on the tip of his nose.

Yuuri hadn't even thought about it. He'd swiped his finger against it and popped that very same finger into his mouth, and then he'd realized what he'd done. Finger still in mouth, he'd looked up into Wolfram's eyes, which were wide open and staring, and neither of them said a word until Yuuri's mother came by shaking a plastic jar of sprinkles and offering to freshen up their cones.

He turned around now and looked at Wolfram, expecting to see a tiny spot of pink on the end of his nose.

"Hey," he said. "I didn't know you were back."

The last time he'd seen Wolfram he hadn't even known that's what it was. If he had, then he'd have...well, he wasn't exactly sure what he'd have done but it would have been something more than whatever it had been. Which wasn't anything really or he'd have been sure to remember it.

The cognac was really making it hard for him to think.

He was suddenly, irrationally angry. He _did_ remember their last time together. It had been on the way to the nurse's office, during their lunch break, after a particularly exhilarating game. Wolfram had been limping, leaning his weight heavily against him much like Murata had done just a few minutes ago, and the blood had been seeping rather heavily through the tear in his pants.

Yuuri hadn't been allowed to stay with him and had been sent "running along" by the nurse with a smile that did nothing to reassure him. He'd been unable to eat lunch and had been taken to task several times in his afternoon classes for inattention, and finally he'd been able to breathe again when Wolfram showed up halfway through science class. He'd changed out of his uniform and into his regular clothes, and although his face had been cleaned there were still a few streaks near the hairline and by his ear.

After school Wolfram had surprised him by asking if he could come over for dinner. Yuuri knew his mother wouldn't have a problem with it and as he'd predicted she'd fussed over Wolfram a good deal when they got there. She'd even plastered the ace bandages around Wolfram's leg with Hello Kitty Band-Aids and he'd taken it all in good stride, so much so that Yuuri had to ask him if he'd been given anything good for the pain.

When Wolfram's brother came to pick him up that night, he'd stalled in the doorway a while. "Yuuri," he'd said then, and his voice had cracked a little. Yuuri had been stunned to see that Wolfram looked very close to tears and he'd worried that whatever had happened to Wolfram's leg was worse than he thought.

It had seemed like Wolfram wanted to tell him something, but all he'd said in the end was "see you later" and then he'd hobbled to Gwendal's Mustang and never looked back.

And now here he was, and he hadn't even bothered to explain what he was doing back or why he'd had to leave in the first place.

"How's the leg?"

Wolfram raised an eyebrow at him. "How's the sleeping without a night light?"

"What the fuck are you doing back?" As a rule, Yuuri tended to avoid language like that but now that Wolfram was back, he remembered that it hadn't taken him long to fall into the habit of swearing in Wolfram's presence, usually in response to one of Wolfram's insults.

"Don't blame me for leaving. Blame my mother."

Yuuri knew that Wolfram's mother was a bit flighty but she genuinely cared about her sons and he knew she'd do nothing to upset their lives without good reason. Of course what Yuuri, or even Wolfram, considered a good reason didn't necessarily agree with anything Cheri thought of as such.

"I'm not pissed that you left." _Liar._

"Fine."

"Fine? _Fine!_ That's what you say when you're pissed at someone but you want to pretend you're not. They say 'hey how's it going' and you want to make sure that they know they're in deep shit with you without actually admitting it, so you come back with 'fine' and if they don't figure it out right away then that's there problem but you'll be pissed even more and for a lot longer."

Wolfram blinked at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I don't know!"

"Then we don't have a problem." Despite the warm summer evening, Wolfram was wearing a long coat and he pulled it closed, wrapping his arms around himself as if he were cold.

"Like hell we don't!"

The cognac was making his entire body feel warm, but especially his head. It honestly felt like there was a teakettle atop his neck and that it was going to blow at any moment.

"I'm not mad that you left," he said, "I was mad, yes, but not because of that."

Wolfram's arms dropped to his sides and he looked like he was ready to take a step forward but clenched his fists instead.

"You never said good bye," Yuuri said, and suddenly the heat that had built up in his head receded. He dropped to his knees on the sidewalk, turned his head, and vomited over the curb.

A white handkerchief was held to his mouth and he wrapped his fingers around it gratefully. He could feel the embroidered initials in the corner and Wolfram's fingers beneath his own.

"You never said good bye," he whispered, gripping Wolfram's hand tightly.

"I tried." Wolfram cleared his throat. "I couldn't do it." He tried to get to his feet but Yuuri clutched at his coat and wouldn't let him.

"What do you want from me, Yuuri?"

"Yuuri. You called me Yuuri."

"Yeah, well, it _is_ your name."

Yuuri let go of the death grip he had on the coat, and when Wolfram got to his feet, he bent down to help Yuuri stand. Yuuri could feel Wolfram's breath on his face and detected the faint scent of citrus toothpaste.

"Did you know I would be here?" Yuuri asked, and when he turned his head his nose disappeared in Wolfram's hair. He inhaled deeply and shivered.

Obviously the cognac was starting to lose its potency.

Wolfram held up the paper that he'd had clenched in his hand earlier. His thumb was over some of the words, but Yuuri could still blearily make out "your" and "desire" and part of Murata's address.

Then and there Yuuri decided that Murata should really be writing Harlequin novels for a living, and the picture in his head of Ken Murata sitting in a silk kimono and feather boa, using a large ostrich plume for a quill, sent him into spasms of laughter.

"What's so funny?" Wolfram grumbled, but his complaint was breathy as Yuuri's lips teased his hair.

"The Great Sphinx."

"You're drunk."

"And you're cute."

"I - what?"

"I said you need to cut loose. Want to go back to Murata's and have a drink?"

Yuuri was really, _really_ glad that Wolfram looked at him in disbelief and practically shouted the word no, and then he gripped Wolfram's arm tightly before leaning over and vomiting again.

In the morning, when he was sober and done puking his guts out, he'd have time to sort through his feelings. Right now, though, Wolfram's voice was gentle in a way Yuuri had never heard before, and the feel of his strong fingers brushing lightly through Yuuri's hair, damp with sweat and reeking of alcohol, was one of the nicest things he'd felt in a long while.

And right now, he was so happy, the moment the two of them began walking back toward Yuuri's house, he couldn't help singing.

Pretty loudly, too, judging from the shouts that came from Murata's second floor and the nearly empty beer can that hit Wolfram in the side of the head.

"Oh, shit," he said, covering his mouth but unable to keep from laughing. "My bad."

Wolfram pushed back locks of beer-drenched hair and the look on his face made Yuuri's knees shake - only from laughter instead of fear.

"You look so...so..."

"Don't even say it, wimp."

Yuuri hadn't planned on it. Like he'd said earlier, Wolfram looked really cute, and that hadn't been the only thing he'd said. At least the other thing had been to Murata, before he'd realized it was Wolfram standing there.

Yep, in the morning he'd sort through his feelings, but right now he didn't really need to, because he felt tingly, warm, and oh so very _right,_ and right now he still had this overwhelming urge to sing.

Wolfram didn't try to make him stop until they were just outside the front door, and when he was done, he stepped back and looked very smug.

Yuuri wiped at his lips and stared back in shock. "Wha?"

"I hate that song."

Yuuri watched him walk away. Whatever had been wrong with his leg was obviously not a problem now, because Wolfram was light on his feet and he jumped up to catch a leaf off an overhead branch.

He was such a liar, too, because as he did so Yuuri could hear him. He was singing the same. Damn. Song.

"...peanuts and Cracker Jacks..."

Yuuri joined in, singing loud enough so that Wolfram could hear him. He knew he did, too, because he stopped at the corner and turned around.

"And it's ROOT! ROOT! ROOT! for the home team!"

The door flew open and Shiori stood there, hair rumpled, shirt unbuttoned, and looking very disgruntled. He grabbed Yuuri by the collar and hauled him inside.

"One. Upstairs and get cleaned up. Two. Don't let Mom see you like this. Three. Shut up before you wake them both up. Four. If I ever catch you like this again, I will break your arm."

Yuuri nodded and grabbed the towel that Shiori thrust at him.

"Five. Stop singing that. I hate that song."

Yuuri listened to Shiori about as much as he listened to Wolfram, and he'd had far more time to make sure Shiori knew that, too.

While he washed his face and gargled, he sang the song again. This was his song, his and Wolfram's.

In the morning, when he had time to sort out his feelings and wasn't quite so hungover, he'd think a little more about their song. He'd never had a problem root, root, rooting for the home team before.

Maybe it was time to start playing for it, too.


End file.
